A/N: Sorry for the wait... Real life got in the way :(
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock.
Warnings: Moriarty being a bastard as usual.
The sound of bleeping echoed around the room. Sherlock didn't want to open his eyes for surely he was dead now. The last thing he felt was intense pain and then numbness took over. His last thoughts were of John and how he hoped that this - whatever this was - was now finished. Although, if this really was death then it didn't feel nearly as painless as he had hoped. He could still feel a faint stinging in his lower stomach, and the rest of his body just felt heavy. There was also a mild discomfort in his right arm, which now that he had his attention on it, got more and more annoying by the second.
He opened his eyes and immediately shut them again.
The walls were a blinding white and he felt as though they had burnt a hole in his eyelids. From the brief glimpse that he got, he could see that he was in a small, blank room. Being as observant as he was meant that he didn't need a lot of time to access the situation. In that small second he could tell that he was in some sort of hospital and that it was basic - to put it nicely - with only one chair and a small cupboard.
Which meant one thing. He was still alive.
Of course he was. Moriarty wouldn't have left him to die. Where was the fun in that? If Sherlock was dead then the game would be over. One thing was for sure though, Moriarty was going to be majorly pissed.
Another thing that Sherlock noticed was the fact that his body didn't feel as weak anymore. Sure he still felt cut up and like absolute death but his mouth wasn't dry and his stomach wasn't empty.
He opened his eyes again, slowly this time, and turned his head slightly to the right. In his arm was a huge needle, accompanied by a drip with some orange looking fluid. Sherlock could tell that the fluid was medication as well as nutrients for his body, which explained why he felt so numb and also explained the bleeping, for behind the fluid pack was a machine measuring his heartbeat.
"Ah, you're awake. Good."
Sherlock didn't hear the door open but he recongized the voice straight away. Moriarty was stood in the doorway wearing his usual black suit. His hair was slicked back and he had a manic expression on his face.
"Where am I?" Sherlock groaned, pushing himself into a sitting position.
"Just another room in the warehouse. Oh I knew you'd pull this kind of stunt to get away. I had this room built especially for when that day came. I must say though, I am rather disappointed. I thought you'd last longer before you ran away."
Moriarty walked into the room and sat on the edge of Sherlock's bed, still wearing the same expression. Sherlock didn't want to look at him, not after everything that had happened, but he felt drawn for some reason. Maybe it was because Moriarty smelt faintly like smoke and Sherlock was craving so bad right now.
"I brought in one of the finest Doctors to operate on you. It was a close call but we managed to save you. You nearly got lucky and your plan nearly worked but we got to you in the last few seconds. Phew eh?" He beamed.
Sherlock didn't reply, he was still craving but he would never ask Moriarty for one. Never. Instead he turned to face the other way, pretending to read what was on the drip.
"Oh, by the way, I do have to punish you for trying to escape. So I erm -" He broke off, smiling, "I took care of your er housekeeper is it?"
Sherlock snapped his eyes up to Moriarty's and felt as though all the blood had drained from his body. Mrs Hudson? He wouldn't have touched her, would he? How would he even have gotten hold of her? But then he remembered that Moriarty was capable of doing that. He managed to get Greg and Dimmock, he could easily get Mrs Hudson.
"What did you do to her?" He snarled, his hands clenching into fists and his heart beating erratically. The machine behind him started to bleep louder but he ignored it, his attention fully on the psychopath in front of him.
"Oh - well..." He laughed, straightening his tie and suit, "She took a long walk off a short ... bridge."
Sherlock felt as though his heart had stopped beating all together. He felt as though time itself had stopped. His eyes glazed over and he blocked out Moriarty's crazy laughter. He withdrew himself completely, instead choosing to focus on the memories of Mrs Hudson that he had kept locked away in his Mind.
"Mrs Hudson, I couldn't afford a place like this... It's pretty much in Central London."
Mrs Hudson shook her head and smiled, "Then pay me what you can afford... At least until you get a flat mate. You're not staying out on the streets anymore. It's cold and look at you, there's hardly anything there! Can't your brother help you out?"
"No, I'd only bring him down. I don't need his help or his money anyway," Sherlock sniffed, shivering as he subconsciously scratched his arm.
Mrs Hudson put the kettle on and sighed, "What about that DI? You and he used to be close."
"Lestrade? He offered to let me stay. But he and his wife are having "domestic issues" or so he calls it. I told him straight up that his wife was cheating again, but he wouldn't believe me. Anyway, he only has a small flat."
"Then you're staying here," Mrs Hudson said, handing him a cup of hot tea, "And then you'll find a flat mate... And hopefully not be as lonely anymore."
Sherlock snorted, "Who'd want me as a flat mate?"
Mrs Hudson had always been there for him. He had protected her time and time again from people like Moriarty, but this time he had failed. She was another innocent person who had died for Moriarty's sick game. He wished he could turn back time and shoot Moriarty on the spot. He wished that he had never got involved with John or Mrs Hudson, or even Lestrade. Without him they would have all been fine. He didn't want to ask Moriarty what had happened to Greg, for he didn't know if he could take anymore pain or heartache. His body felt cold and the memories kept flicking across his mind refusing to stay in place.
" - Next time it'll be John."
Sherlock shook his head a little and turned his gaze back to Moriarty, "... What?"
Moriarty frowned, clearly displeased at not being listened to, "I said... If you fuck up again I'll kill John... Or maybe torture him. Or both." he broke off, looking thoughtful.
"No."
"Sorry, what?" Moriarty said, looking bemused.
"I said no. You won't kill or even harm John. I won't let you."
Moriarty's face broke into a grin, "And you think you can stop me? You think you can do that?"
Sherlock looked him in the eye and smiled back, "Yes."
